


timestamp - phantom pain

by romanticalgirl



Category: Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 20:55:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/752985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A timestamp sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/752363%22">Phantom Pain</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	timestamp - phantom pain

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 7-21-08

There is little fanfare to any of it. A parson says a few words about a man he does not know, and those in the small community who attend such things are pressed around the freshly dug dirt. Bush supposes he should be grateful for these people, lest there be no one here save him. He feels out of place and he can feel their sly stares, as if they think he is blind, not lame.

The parson walks over to him afterwards and expresses his regret, though Bush says nothing to encourage the man’s confidences or sorrow. He simply nods and recognizes that the uniform is all the impetus the man needs. He says little really before he hurries away, listening in on the harsh chatter that leads back to the pub, arguing over a French man buried on English soil.

He is not sure how long he is lost in thought, in memory. Perhaps no time at all. It is not the past that haunts him, but the future which has come so vivid to him standing here. One day this will be him in the ground, and he wonders what gathering will come to see him off. He had always imagined he would die at sea, die in battle, and he would vanish beneath the waves. Now he knows he will die like this, permanent and immovable, weighed down by dirt and stone. Now he will have mourners and tears, a monument that speaks of their memory of him, and not his own truth.

“He was a soldier.” 

Bush starts and shakes his head to clear it. He holds his balance through years of practice on storm-tossed ships, though the subtle shift sends a course of pain through his stump. Hornblower is beside him and perhaps has been for some time. “I’m sorry, sir?”

“A soldier.” Hornblower’s hands are clasped behind his back and his legs spread as if he is on deck, on watch. “This is how they die.”

Bush nods, understanding. “Sir.”

Hornblower nods and turns away. Bush follows him, seeing Hornblower’s carriage at the road. It is unspoken that he will give Bush a ride back to Sheerness. There are many things unspoken between them. “Your sisters will protest.”

“They are used to not having me home, sir. Death need not change that.”

Hornblower nods again and halts at the carriage, not offering a hand to Bush. He is careful in that regard and Bush nods his appreciation. The ride back will be silent, respectful and more will be said in that silence than any words would convey.  



End file.
